


Tutti

by Llama1412



Series: Don't Cry For Me, Temeria [5]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Music, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26623159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Iorveth was a musician once. For the first time in a long, long time, he lets himself improvise and justplay, pouring his feelings into his music, but now he struggles to let his muse flow.
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Series: Don't Cry For Me, Temeria [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912225
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	Tutti

**Author's Note:**

> Tutti is a musical term meaning all voices and instruments come in together.

Iorveth was not used to feeling unprepared. He was a tactician and a detail-oriented one to boot. He prepared for  _ everything. _

But as much as he prepared, Vernon Roche always seemed to blast past all his barriers and utterly overwhelm him.

From their very first meeting, Roche had blown away all his expectations. What other human would possibly have caught him off guard enough –  _ interested _ him enough – that he would have accepted their offered mouth?

Fuck, Roche’s mouth was a thing of beauty. Not just its skill – though that was undeniable – but the way it frowned in thought before careful words tried to teach others to be better. Tried to teach  _ himself _ to be better.

For Iorveth.

Well, maybe. Roche had never said that, of course, certainly never in so many words. But he showed it – the way he’d listened to Iorveth when Iorveth was his captive, the way he’d  _ let Iorveth go,  _ the way he’d sauntered up and saved Iorveth’s life in Vergen and expected nothing in return, the way he kept coming back to Iorveth, kept seeking him out, kept touching him, kept kissing him.

Gods, Roche’s kisses were glorious. Each one felt earth-shattering – sweet and hot and affectionate in a way Iorveth had never done anything to earn. Iorveth would happily spend the entire rest of his long life partaking greedily in Roche’s mouth, in those surprisingly soft lips and that ever so talented tongue that drove him out of his mind and challenged him to do better at the same time.

What had Iorveth done to earn such an incredible gift as Roche’s affection and attention? The world wasn’t supposed to work like this – Iorveth knew what he was, what he’d done. He didn’t  _ deserve _ something as fragile and beautiful as Roche’s regard.

But he craved it. There was a deep chasm within his chest that felt like it could never be filled, but Iorveth fervently grasped for more and more of everything Roche was willing to give, and with each gesture and kiss and smile and wink, he felt a little more whole. 

He wasn’t worthy of feeling like this, of having this warm sensation build and spread across his body. Iorveth was a monster. He  _ knew _ that already. He’d spent decades  _ purposely becoming _ a monster for the sake of his people. It was a sacrifice he had willingly made. After all, what was one person’s hands stained red with blood when freedom for a whole species could be achieved?

Iorveth had accepted his lot in life. He’d lived for a long time. His early life had been idyllic in retrospect, though it hadn’t felt it at the time. But he’d lived a life – he’d loved and he’d lost and he’d played concertos and symphonies and arias and there had been a time when his music was appreciated and admired. 

It hurt to think of those times, of all that he had lost, but Iorveth was an elf. Life was loss, ever since humanity arrived on their shores. 

Iorveth had made a choice. Sometimes he wondered if that was better or worse than if it had happened naturally, a slow progression into the monster he was now. But he hadn’t gradually gotten more and more brutal. Iorveth had  _ chosen _ to become a monster. For his people.

And it was worth it, it  _ was.  _ For the first time in centuries, he had real hope that his people could have an actual future. It wasn’t what he’d initially pictured, but Geralt had once said something that resonated deep within Iorveth’s soul.

_ I have learned to live with humans, so that  _ I _ may live. _

And that was the heart of it, wasn’t it? Humanity was such an overbearing threat that all the rest of them could do was make themselves as unthreatening as possible and hope that humanity  _ let _ them live.

_ Fuck that,  _ the Iorveth of a year ago would have shouted.  _ No one will give us our freedom. We must fight for it. _

And he had. He’d fought and he’d fought and he’d fought, and nothing ever got better and dammit, Iorveth was  _ tired. _

He refused to bow before humanity, refused to let the monstrosity he’d become be all for nothing. 

But Saskia promised him better than that. She swore to Iorveth that while he would have to figure out who he was and how he fit into this new world, her world would be one of true equity. One where the Aen Seidhe could rebuild their dignity in peace, without having to cower in fear of another of humanity’s temper tantrums.

Iorveth trusted Saskia. He  _ believed _ in Saskia. She hadn’t even needed to ask him to fight for her – Iorveth had seen immediately that a fight was coming. Preparing his Scoia’tael to aid the Dragonslayer had taken time, but the fact was, they were fighting a losing battle. Part of Iorveth had always known that, even if he tried to ignore it. As the Aen Seidhe slowly died out, humans just multiplied more and more, like vermin that overran the continent.

If elves couldn’t find a way to live alongside humanity, then there was little chance they would be able to live for very long at all.

He’d tried to explain this to his people. Obviously he’d failed to convince a number of them – and that was a whole can of worms that he was  _ not _ unpacking right now – but he’d tried.

Gods, sometimes it felt like all Iorveth ever did was try. Try and fail.

Maybe that was what spoke to him about Roche. Roche knew what it was like to fight against an immovable force. Granted, that immovable force had always been Iorveth, but still. Roche  _ knew _ what it meant to be a commander, to want what was best for his people, to try, and to fail. 

It was funny, how much of Iorveth had turned into a Commander. Once, he’d been a Musician, and instead of red blood, his fingers had flowed with song and sound.

But that had been long ago. Too long, perhaps. Would it be possible to go back to that? To stop being a monster and return to music?

Saskia thought so, granting him housing that had glorious acoustics so that he could play to his heart’s content. Even Roche seemed to think so, given that Saskia had said the suggestion had come from Roche.

Iorveth licked his lips and pulled out his flute. He’d never allowed himself fall out of practice, though he certainly didn’t play as often as he once had. Maybe that could change, along with all the other changes coming in this Free Pontar Valley.

He closed his eyes and fitted the mouthpiece between his lips, then he let his fingers move at will. He wasn’t playing with a plan, wasn’t playing a specific piece. 

When was the last time he’d improvised instead of playing a set piece? He’d spent so long recreating the songs of his youth, not wanting elven music to fade from memory.

But there was something to be said for just  _ playing,  _ for letting the music in his soul come to life.

The notes he played were high and buoyant, full of hope and faith and freedom. They were tempered with low notes of hesitation and fear, but as Iorveth continued to play, it was easy to lean into the hopeful feeling, to think about Saskia and the Free Pontar Valley they were building and about Roche and their potential future together.

When had Iorveth last looked forward to the future? But now, now hope was soaring in his heart and everything he was feeling was bubbling up into his music and gods, he’d needed a release like this, needed a way to just get his whole tangle of emotion  _ out. _ And through his flute, there was a beauty to his emotions, a rhythm and a melody and most importantly, a theme.

The subject of said theme clattered through the high window in Iorveth’s bedroom and tumbled onto the bed with a huff of expelled air.

Iorveth let his melody draw to an end before he broke out into laughter.

“Graceful,” he complimented snidely.

Roche just waved his hand, rolling onto his stomach and coming up on his elbows to look at Iorveth. “Never heard that before. It was beautiful.”

“Oh,” Iorveth blinked, unprepared for the upswell of emotion that simple compliment caused. 

There had been a time he could stand on stage and receive the crowd’s accolades with only fierce, happy pride in his heart. Now? Now there was an awkwardness to it, a part of him that shied away from believing the kind words.

“Just messing around,” he shrugged, making light of it.

“Well, your mess sounds like a fucking symphony,” Roche said. Iorveth stared at him and Roche grinned. “You should keep playing.”

“What?”

“You were having fun,” Roche shrugged with a sheepish smile. “And I like listening to you play.”

“You didn’t come here just to sit around while I play,” Iorveth deflected.

“Why not? You’re a pretty thing to look at, and the sounds you make are even better,” Roche winked and Iorveth couldn’t help laughing.

Still, instead of playing in front of Roche – and he didn’t know  _ why _ that idea made him uncomfortable right now. He’d played with Roche listening many times. But it had never been something he improvised, something he threw his own personal emotions into – instead of playing, Iorveth set his flute aside and flopped onto the bed next to Roche.

“Why  _ did _ you come here?” he asked, leaning forward to brush their lips together gently, just for an instant.

Roche’s hand shot up and curled around his neck, keeping him close and pulling him into a proper kiss – sweet and soft and so very, very affectionate, and Iorveth could feel a burning sensation building up behind his eye. He’d never been one to cry from emotion, and yet, what Roche brought out in him…

He wanted to find out what else Roche could evoke from him. Iorveth snaked an arm around Roche’s back and rolled, pulling Roche with him so that he could be covered by the human’s warmth and breadth.

What was it about Roche’s broad shoulders that took his breath away? What was it about Roche’s stocky strength that made him wish to be surrounded and overwhelmed? 

What was it about the soft way Roche pressed kisses across his cheeks and his forehead and his scars that made him want to fold this moment up and lock it in his heart for all eternity?

He did not end up playing his flute for Roche any more that evening, but Roche did succeed in filling the air with a different kind of song from him entirely.


End file.
